Always in Motion
by Bloodhawk 248
Summary: At the height of the Jedi Civil War, former Sith Lord Revan killed Darth Malak and promptly disappeared from history. At the height of the Galactic Civil War, Obi-Wan Kenobi finds a mysterious pod on board the Death Star. The Prodigal Knight returns to a galaxy as conflicted as ever, and Luke Skywalker will have the master he so desperately needs.
1. Chapter 1

As he stood at the foot of the Ebon Hawk's landing ramp, both blasters still smoking from recent use, Carth had a bad feeling about this.

He had, in fact, nursed that bad feeling all the way from the _Endar Spire, _when it blew up and started this whole thing. Had nursed it ever since he met Ren Olharr, who was far more skilled than any soldier he'd ever met and yet seemed so unsure of her place in the world. It was something he expected to see in a child, not a full-grown woman in her mid-twenties. The mission left no room for doubt, though, so he served at her side, saw her grow in strength and skill, and tried to bury his growing misgivings.

Until the debacle on the _Leviathan, _where Admiral Karath whispered a final, damning secret in his ear. Where the Dark Lord of the Sith confronted them, and, laughing in his cold monotone, revealed the true identity of the sarcastic soldier-turned-Jedi.

He hadn't know what to expect, even as they escaped Malak's grasp but were forced to leave Bastila in his clutches. Ren Olharr had been quite unresponsive as they recovered the last Star Map, doing very little except fight and sleep. She talked to no one, not even Mission or Jolee, and practically kicked HK-47 and Canderous out of the cargo hold. Buoyed by the sudden revelation of her identity, the former hadn't minded very much; the latter took up residence in the starboard crew quarters where he regaled Mission with tales of Revan's strategic brilliance and utter ruthlessness.

If he had hoped to bring the old Revan back simply by talking about her, he failed. Ren Olharr continued to go by that name and drew in on herself, focusing on the fight to come. Tension coiled within her, unleashed immediately on those who stood in her way. Korriban had provided many who thought this was wise, with the Sith Academy rising up in arms after Ren strode out with Uthar Wynn's mutilated corpse and hurled it into their midst. Even the deaths of every Sith student on the planet, however, failed to release the wary pressure building up inside. Carth had been almost glad when they'd been stranded on the Unknown World. Preoccupied with fixing the ship, he hadn't been there when Ren intervened in the power struggle between the One and the Elders by taking the One's head from his shoulders. He'd also been absent when the three Jedi slaughtered their way through the temple and deactivated the disruptor field. Something important had happened there involving Bastila, but none of the three Jedi talked. Only Ren's stormy countenance - a sight made familiar over the last few days - and Jolee's grave expression hinted at the depths Bastila had fallen to.

Once the Ebon Hawk was spaceworthy and free to fly again, the Star Forge was their final destination. Ren had ordered every single one of them to check their equipment and prepare for the worst fight any of them had ever been in. Carth's Republic Mod armor received strengthening alloys and Canderous insulated his Mandalorian battle suit against electrical damage, a sober reminder of the dark side powers they faced. Blasters were upgraded for stopping power and energy capacity, and Carth even caught Zaalbar honing the edge of his ancestral blade.

Then they were ready. Or so they thought.

The initial landing was a nightmare. There almost hadn't been a landing zone; Dark Jedi and Sith troopers flooded the pad, locked in ferocious combat with the Jedi Knights sent ahead to secure the area. The Ebon Hawk's guns were of no use with the combatants so tightly mingled together; he remembered arguing with Canderous whether or not to open fire anyway, and while the Mandalorian was shouting something about acceptable losses and untenable situations, Ren simply hit the ramp release and dove out of the ship.

He'd seen her slim, petite form fall from the ramp. Both lightsabers blazed to life before she hit the ground, and when she did an invisible hand hurled the clustered Sith into the hangar walls. She charged straight into a knot of Dark Jedi, blades spinning and hacking, and disappeared from view.

Canderous had sworn vigorously in his native language and grabbed his ludicrously-oversized rifle before jumping off the ramp. Carth had hastily set the Ebon Hawk down on the newly-cleared landing pad and left the ship just in time to see Canderous and Juhani exit the hangar. He'd meant to follow them, but Jolee had accosted him.

"We have enough to do here without looking for more trouble!" The old Jedi had shouted, deflecting a blaster bolt with an elegant one-handed sweep.

"But Ren-" Carth's distraction nearly cost him his head, and only a quick dodge saved him from a disruptor blast. He fired back and didn't miss.

"Has to fight her own battles. You saw her; every Sith in this crate wouldn't stop her. She'll be fine," Jolee cut down an overeager Dark Jedi, and with a gesture hurled the dead woman's still-ignited lightsaber into the back of one of her comrades. "We, on the other hand, need a hefty dose of luck to get out of this one intact."

Carth glanced back at the trail of bodies bearing lightsaber burns, and then at Mission and Zaalbar frantically attempting to keep from being drowned in a tide of gold armor. Decision made, he emptied both guns into Sith backs and rummaged for reloads.

The fight had taken at least an hour, and of course it felt longer. Everyone felt it; Mission's arm was scarred by a lightsaber, Zaalbar was limping from a shot to the leg, and burn marks showed all over the droids' plating. Carth himself had taken a disruptor shot to the chest and was pretty sure he had a few cracked ribs. Only Jolee remained mostly untouched, his robes only sporting a few burns, but now that the Sith forces lay dead or dying everyone had room to breathe, recover, and reflect on their struggles.

The Sith had poured through for the first few frantic minutes, but their ranks had eventually thinned to a trickle, and then even those few stopped coming.

"Where is everybody?" Mission wondered. "I'm kind of hurt; after all that effort and crappy shooting they just give up on us?"

"It's Ren," Carth said quietly. "They're trying to slow her down, weaken her for Malak."

Jolee leaned heavily against one of the Hawk's landing struts. "Flyboy's right. Malak wants to kill her himself, and he knows her death will win the battle for him. Hell, he'll win the war." The old man laughed bitterly. "But the way she is right now, he'll be lucky if she doesn't take his head off the moment she sees him."

Carth turned to the old man. "You knew, didn't you?" Mission flinched, probably expecting him to spew hatred and vitriol, but he was too tired for that. "You knew all along that she was Revan."

Jolee nodded. "Yes, I did. I didn't tell you because it wasn't my place."

The pilot shook his head. "Not that. I'm...well, I'm not over it but I'm more interested about how Revan hid her identity. There aren't any images of her face, just the mask."

Jolee wagged a finger at him. "You young people love your symbols. The mask was to render her identity unimportant, so that people would hear her message: that the Mandalorians needed to be fought. Or so I'm told; the Shadowlands don't get the Holonet. And the Jedi Temple is basically closed off from the rest of Coruscant. I doubt anyone outside the big old castle knew her face before she put on the mask."

Carth shook his head in disbelief. "But someone should have seen her. Someone should have known."

"Ha!" The old Jedi snorted. "People did know, but by and large they were Jedi. The Council knew, of course, but the Jedi who knew Revan the best either died during the wars or turned to the dark side with her.

But," and here he waved a finger again for emphasis, "you have to understand something: Revan wasn't trying to keep a secret. She didn't care who knew her name or her face, it was never important if somebody knew what she looked like under the mask. It was all about a way to focus the public's attention on a symbol so that they would forget the person and see only the message, that's why she changed her name too. Her identity wasn't the issue. This whole 'mystery' was just a side effect of all that."

Carth thought about it. If he had to be honest with himself, he was mostly angry because _he_ hadn't known. Ever since the pod had crashed to Taris with him and Ren inside it, he'd known that there was something no one was telling him. The feeling had never gone away, and when Karath had passed on the truth with his dying breath he'd felt betrayed and vindicated at the same time; angry at such a monumental secret but also fiercely triumphant that he'd been right to feel as he did.

"And let's be honest," Jolee continued, once he was sure Carth had processed that thought, "the Jedi Council's more responsible for this secret-keeping business than Revan ever was. Of course they needed to be for their plan to work; couldn't have people realizing the Dark Lord of the Sith was walking around without any idea who she was."

"But now she does, right?" Mission questioned. "And she's fighting Malak instead of helping him, so she's good again now, yeah?"

Carth shook his head angrily. "It's not that simple, Mission-"

"There you go again with the rampant paranoia, Carth!" Mission threw up her hands. "It's really getting old! Just because Admiral Asshole jumped in bed with the Sith doesn't mean everyone is plotting behind your back to betray you! We know Ren; we're her friends. She wouldn't do that to us."

"Sith don't have any friends-" Carth began, but Jolee raised a hand.

"What I worry about," the old Jedi said slowly, "is whether or not she decides she wants revenge for what the Council did to her. Because if she does-"

The rest of his sentence was cut off in a gasp as he doubled over. Mission rushed to steady him.

"What's wrong? Jolee? Jolee, are you all right?"

It seemed that he was, for the old Jedi waved her away, managing to stand upright again. His eyes were graver than ever.

"I'm fine, but I don't think we can say the same for Ren."

* * *

Darth Malak, Dark Lord of the Sith, stared down at the ruined hole in his chest, then toppled down onto his side. The metallic prosthesis replacing his jaw thumped against the durasteel floor, but he made no other sound.

Before him, Ren Olharr stood, her robes burned and scarred beyond all recognition. The cyan lightsaber still hummed in her hand. She looked at it as if seeing it for the first time and deactivated it. Then she followed her enemy down to the floor in a flutter of white.

"Ren!" The shout burst from Bastila's throat as she rushed to her friend's side. Juhani and Canderous were right behind her, their bodies bearing the burns of Malak's fury.

Bastila gently turned over her old friend's body and gasped at the damage. She'd been impaled through the abdomen; the edges of the wound were charred and scorched by the lightsaber's beam.

"She looks bad," Canderous observed neutrally, but there was a touch of regret in his voice.

"Shut up," Bastila snapped. He was right, though. The compressed beam of energy had torched Revan's stomach and probably more of her vitals. The cauterizing properties of a lightsaber meant that there was no danger of exsanguination, but it also meant heavy internal damage caused by the touch of the plasma beam.

The steel beneath her boots lurched, nearly toppling her over Revan. Canderous nearly fell, but somehow stayed upright, letting out a curse in what was presumably Mandalorian.

"This place is falling apart," he snapped, "we need to get out of here."

He was right about that, too. Bastila brushed a lock of raven hair out of Revan's face, then stood up. With a gesture of her hand, Revan rose into the air until she floated a meter off the ground.

"Juhani," At the call, the Cathar Jedi exerted her own grip, maintaining the comatose Jedi's gentle levitation. Bastila released her hold; with another call to the Force Revan's lightsabers hurtled into her hands from where they lay on the cold durasteel grating. Bastila hooked them both to her belt and turned to follow her comrades, then hesitated.

The body of Darth Malak, once Alek Squinquargesimus, lay unattended and unmourned. Bastila felt a pang of grief, mixed with regret. At the last, he had been a monster twisted by the seductive power of the dark side, as terrible as any terentatek or creature of Sith alchemy. How different he was from the kind, brave Jedi Knight who had so believed in freedom and justice that he had defied the entire Jedi Council for his beliefs. She'd worked so hard to keep Revan from the darkness again that the woman had started to look like a cornered womp rat every time Bastila walked by. She'd lectured Revan endlessly from her pedestal about attachment and passion and everything under the suns...and the entire time she'd had no idea what she was talking about.

Had it been like this for Malak, she wondered. Did he know what he was getting into, did he realize the grip the dark side was gaining on him? Did he accept it, or did he delude himself into believing he was its master -

"Oi, princess!" Canderous shouted over another rumble, "I'm not dying here, so get your _osik _together! You can brood on the Hawk!"

The haze of her memories and musings blew away like a cloud of dust disturbed by a brush. She shook her head, and in that motion saw a small glint of metal lying by Malak's hand. Once again the Force brought a lightsaber to her, the smooth contours and elegant curves fitting easily into her hand.

"Come _on,_" Canderous growled. "Play saber collector when we're not all about to die!"

If he was right many more times, Bastila thought, she might actually have to kill him. Then she took his advice and followed him out the door.

* * *

As he shut off the tractor beam console, accomplishing his mission and eliminating the only reason to remain on this vile weapon of mass destruction, Obi-Wan Kenobi suddenly got a _very _bad feeling about all this.

He knew where the bad feeling was coming from; knew it as well as he did its source. His old apprentice was on the station, and even a cursory examination of the Force showed that Darth Vader had neither forgiven nor forgotten the duel on Mustafar.

It had been many years since that duel, and Obi-Wan was all too aware that he would not survive a second one, nor did he really desire to. The galaxy had become such a dark place, and he had never feared death. It would not be so bad to lay down his cares and go to join all his fallen brethren, so long missed. But there were still two things he had to do: ensure Luke escaped the Death Star and investigate a new Force signal, a strange ripple in the current that simply would not go away.

It wasn't a dramatic disturbance like the death of Alderaan, nothing on that scale of loss and suffering. In fact, it was nothing more than a niggle in the back of his mind, but the reason it stood out was because it felt familiar. There was nothing on this colossus that should incite that feeling, and that alone warranted a further look.

Vader was moving, slowly but inexorably like the black thundercloud he existed as in the Force. In contrast, the other feeling was stationary. It wasn't exactly close, but in the opposite direction from Vader. Perfect.

He started moving. With luck, this would draw Vader away from Luke and prevent the Dark Lord from the inevitable realization a little longer. Anakin always did have tunnel vision.

* * *

Beneath the nightmarish visage of his helmet, Darth Vader's burnt lips twisted in a snarl.

His old master had never lacked for courage; had old age and senility softened the Negotiator's steel resolve? Possible, but unlikely. A better explanation was that this was a plan, executed with trademark Kenobi subtlety.

Well. It wasn't as if he didn't have the time to spare, or the confidence in his abilities. Kenobi was nothing but an old man now, and he, Vader, had become the second most powerful being in the galaxy.

Lips now bared in anticipation instead of hate, the Dark Lord went in search of his prey.

* * *

There hadn't been any schematics available, so Obi-Wan let the Force guide him through the bowels of the steel monstrosity, taking service corridors and maintenance elevators to remain unnoticed. He could still feel Vader's presence as the monster strove to hunt him down, but he had a comfortable lead and could fit through the smaller spaces the Sith Lord could not.

The path he chose saw him switch between service tunnels and automated lifts at no real discernable points, dodging mouse droids with consummate ease. The Force guided him and gave him certainty, refreshed him when he grew tired, so it was absolutely no surprise to him when a seemingly-innocuous side corridor opened up into a massive room, sporting a matte-black sphere that exuded sinister intent.

That, however, was not the object of his scrutiny. The elusive Force signal was strong here, and further inspection revealed its source: off to the side stood a gray cylinder, not unlike a bacta tank but considerably smaller. It was set at an angle so that the back of the device loomed away from the base. He'd emerged behind it, so a quick circle was needed to ascertain just what he was looking at.

And then he remembered. This device felt familiar because it was...or rather the person inside it was. But he and Master Yoda had left it in Bail Organa's care, so what was it doing here on the Death Star? How had it escaped the destruction of Alderaan?

There was no time for those answers; Vader was closing relentlessly, his aura tinged by a new malice.

Obi-Wan placed a hand on the pod and opened himself to the Force. Life flowed through him, all-engulfing. In his senses, the pod glowed with a gentle light, impenetrable to all but those who immersed themselves in the light of the Force. He allowed the light to radiate from him, channeling the current into the pod until a metallic click sounded. He stepped back, and the clear hatch opened upwards but slowly, as if oddly reluctant to relinquish the person it had protected so long.

Now open to the world for the first time in who knew how many centuries, the pod revealed a young woman: slender, with short raven hair cut so that long bangs framed her face. She wore the tunic and brown overrobe of a Jedi, but in a style so antiquated even the Jedi, long respecters of tradition, no longer used them. He'd seen that style before in recordings of the Mandalorian Wars, but they were four thousand years past.

Power radiated from the woman's slight frame, a power so great it nearly staggered him. Only Anakin had ever had this much sheer presence in the Force, such raw evidence of _existence_. She shone so brightly in the Force that she seemed to have been there always, a constant amid the ever-changing tides of life. And yet all this tremendous Force-sensitivity had been absent until the pod had opened.

How long had she languished within this container, and why had she been interred within?

His musings were interrupted as something hissed below him, and Obi-Wan looked down to see a previously hidden hatch open in the bottom of the pod. Two lightsabers rested in the secret alcove, along with a small box and a very old-looking datapad. Any further investigation was forestalled as the woman gasped and shot upwards, chest heaving in frantic breaths.

They were gray, but a bright gray, almost silver. Currently they were fogged with the slow ascent into awareness, but something told Obi-Wan they were normally bright with intelligence and cold barriers against any attempt to fathom their owner's thoughts.

Then they widened, and immediately the old Jedi Master found himself pinned to the nearest wall, a hand closed around his throat.

"_Tu quis es?"_

Despite being pressed against a bulkhead and having his air circulation cut off, Obi-Wan remained calm. It was not for nothing they'd called him the Negotiator. He raised both hands slowly, in a gesture of peace.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you."

The gray eyes were wild now, swirling with confusion and disorientation. They searched his face desperately, then narrowed quickly. The wild torrents of emotion were replaced by something else: a mechanically-precise sense of calculation that chilled Obi-Wan's spine even as he struggled to process the sudden change in the woman's Force-presence.

Then, agony.

White needles of pain stabbed his temples, and the world around him blurred and became incomprehensible. His throat ached in pain, but he could not even hear himself screaming. For a long moment he wallowed in torment.

Then hands were gripping his head, pressing away the pain. Cold relief swept over him, hitting almost as abruptly as the pain had. Jedi training kicked in and he banished the remainder of his discomfort, straightening up again.

The woman stood before him, eyes wary and chest still heaving with exertion. He frowned; was she unwell?

"I'm - I'm sorry," she began haltingly, and Obi-Wan was surprised to learn he could understand her now, but more immediate of a concern was the way her eyes began to mist, jerking in and out of focus. "I - where am I? Who are you? You're a Jedi, but this isn't-" She took a step forward and then tumbled forward, arms flailing. Reflexes still sharp, Obi-Wan deftly caught her before she hit the deck.

"Are you quite all right?" he began to ask, then saw the closed eyes and heard the gentle, quiet breaths of sleep resumed.

There was no time to let her wake. Vader approached, blocking the main entrance, but there was no way Obi-Wan could escape the way he came, not with an unconscious woman in tow. He frowned, turning over all his possible options and then attempting to concoct a viable plan. Soon he had one, bereft of his preferred traits of caution and elegant subtlety. It was a bold idea, relying on sheer audacity and quickness of execution.

It was, he thought regretfully, a plan Anakin would have liked.

Abandoning his maudlin contemplations with a rueful shake of his head, Obi-Wan used the Force to call the contents of the box to his hands. He slipped the datapad and the small box into the woman's voluminous robes. The lightsabers he held in each hand, noting that they had not been built by the same person, before clipping one at random to the woman's belt and gripping the other one in his hands.

* * *

Fury boiled through Darth Vader's mind, lashing against his carefully-constructed barriers of control as he approached the entrance to his quarters. After all the old man had done to him, taken from him, he had the gall and the nerve to violate one of Vader's private sanctuaries?

His saber was already in his hand and lit as he reached out with his mind, preparing to open the door with his mind when it hissed open, revealing a brown-robed figure with something slung over his shoulder. A forest-green lightsaber hummed in his hands.

_Obi-Wan!_

Vader snarled, stepping forward to close the distance. He was halfway to Obi-Wan when the old man hurled the viridian blade at him.

_Old fool! _The Sith Lord growled in delight, deflecting the impromptu spear with a contemptuous sweep of his arm. Perhaps senility really was creeping in. He swept forward menacingly, savoring his impending victory -

And then saw only a flash of brown as Obi-Wan was somehow hurtling over his head in a spectacular somersault. Vader tried for a vertical cut to slash the Jedi Master out of the air but missed. The old man hit the floor heavily but kept his feet and raced for the door. The Sith Lord closed in pursuit, but as Obi-Wan passed the door a lance of blue light stabbed out, humming sweetly. The access controls exploded in a shower of sparks, and immediately the door began to close.

A growl of hatred escaped Vader's throat and he redoubled his efforts but the cumbersome armor slowed him down, and he only managed to reach the sliding doors as they closed shut in his face, a final galling denial.

He threw back his head and screamed, anger and spite blackening the Force. The crimson beam of his lightsaber plunged into the durasteel doors, thickened and reinforced for absolute protection. The barriers designed to defend him now stood in his way, unyielding and uncaring.

Vader drove the blade against the doors with all his considerable strength, forcing the beginnings of a circular cut. He would not be denied again. He would find Obi-Wan.

_Do you hear me, old man? I WILL FIND YOU!_

* * *

Obi-Wan fled the Dark Lord's private sanctuary, head ringing from the shout of pure fury released into the Force.

He was panting heavily; though the woman was a light burden he was old, and the acrobatics hadn't helped. He supposed he should be grateful, though; the old Ataru techniques had never deserted him and had most likely saved his life.

He spared a moment to offer a silent apology to the woman, or whoever had created that lightsaber. It would no doubt end up as another one of Vader's trophies, but at least it had served a good purpose: saving their skins.

Sirens blared, a cacophony of insensible noise. That wasn't good; had Luke and the others been found? Still, he could do them no good here, and he trusted Solo to keep them alive until they could regroup at the ship. That would be the best place to deposit his unanticipated companion and keep her safe. Then he would need to lure Vader away, an act that would certainly cost him his life.

There is no death, but there is the Force.


	2. Chapter 2

Luke had no idea where everything had gone wrong.

The plan had been simple enough: rescue the Princess from the cell block and hightail it back to the ship. Granted, they hadn't been sneaky enough to bluff past the guards as he had imagined, but now they were trapped in a narrow corridor with stormtroopers blocking their only way out.

"See-Threepio! See-Threepio, are there any other ways out of the cell bay? We've been cut off!"

He ducked as blaster bolts impacted on the low ceiling above him. Down the hall, a stormtrooper disappeared in smoke as Han shot him. The comlink emitted static instead of words.

"What was that? I didn't copy!" Luke flinched at another round of blasterfire and burrowed deeper into his impromptu hiding place.

"I said, all systems have been alerted to your presence, sir!" See-Threepio's mechanical voice was made even tinnier by the comlink. "The main entrance seems to be the only way in or out; all other information on your level is restricted...oh no,"

More stormtroopers emerged, taking up positions that were far too close for Luke's liking. Blaster bolts continued their lethal dance along the walls of the cell block.

"There isn't any other way out!" he shouted, frustrated. Chewie barked something that carried a distinctively mournful tone, while Han fired another volley of shots down the corridor and succeeded in creating more clouds of smoke.

"I can't hold them off forever!" The smuggler groused. "Now what?"

"This is some rescue!" The princess snapped from behind Luke. "You came in here and you didn't have a plan for getting out?"

Even while firing down the hall, Han managed a ferocious glare and a shouted, "He's the brains, sweetheart!"

Preoccupied with laying down his own cover fire, Luke only had time to blink in surprise as Leia snatched his gun from him with a roll of her eyes. "What are you doing-" he managed, before she trained the blaster on a section of grating and blew it open.

"What the hell are you doing?" Han shouted, sparing an angry glance. It must not have been very effective; Leia's only response was an arch "Well, someone has to save our skins!"

She fired a few more rounds off before slamming into the other wall and gesturing over the ruptured grate, handing Luke back his blaster as she did so. "Into the garbage chute, flyboy!" She put words to action as she dropped into the chute, disappearing from view immediately.

Han's salvos dropped off as he tried to convince Chewie to follow her. "Get in there, Chewie! Get in there!" Luke picked up the slack, firing the captured Imperial blaster from a one-handed grip. With all the smoke rising up from the blaster impacts, he couldn't see if he actually hit anything.

The smuggler finally convinced his first mate to get in with a swift kick to the behind. "Wonderful girl!" he snarled over at Luke. "Either I'm going to kill her, or I'm beginning to like her!"

As he had no response for that, Luke opted to simply dive through the chute. He heard a muffled scream, signifying that either Han had followed him or been hit. He fervently hoped it was the former, but there was no time to check.

In the brief seconds before he hit the sludge of the trash compactor, he reflected that maybe adventuring wasn't all it was cut out to be.

* * *

After evading the grasp of the Dark Lord himself, it was a simple matter to sneak his way back to the Falcon, with none of the guards he passed any the wiser. When his stealth failed him, a simple mind trick was all he needed to convince the guards he was perfectly entitled to go about his business. With the personnel all focused on their jobs and distracted by the hustle and bustle of ordinary operations, an old man carrying an unconscious woman over his shoulder was nothing to raise a fuss about.

As he entered the hangar, Obi-Wan noted with a sigh of relief that he was in luck. No stormtroopers guarded the ship, though that was likely to change soon. He had to act quickly; he needed to locate Luke and effect the young one's escape from the Death Star as soon as possible.

He ascended the ramp with quick steps, laying his burden down beside the open smuggling compartments. He briefly considered depositing the woman within one - it would protect her from investigation, but decided against it. It might be frightening to someone who was obviously incredibly confused.

Obi-Wan quickly arranged the woman's limbs in as comfortable a position as he could. If the Force was kind, she would escape with the others. The burgeoning fight against the Empire could use someone with her power and skills. And...perhaps she could teach Luke where he could not. It would be, after all, hard to tutor a pupil when one was dead.

His thoughts turned quickly to curiosity as he allowed himself a brief moment to speculate. Who was this woman? So powerful a Jedi from so long ago, placed in that strange device. It must have preserved her, but how, and why? These questions had been asked before, and still went unanswered. Master Yoda had learned that the pod could only have been opened by the touch of a light-sider.

Dread hit him as he was again forced to consider an unwelcome possibility: had the device been built to contain her? Master Yoda had elected not to open the pod then, unsure of its purpose and the individual within it. Had he made a mistake; was the Jedi touched by the dark? Even as these thoughts came to him, he banished them. Now that he saw her in person, unconstrained by the pod, he could feel her aura; it did not feel like those of dark-siders; it swirled with power and chaos. There were _hints _of darkness in the tempest of power that she was, but also currents of light. All of it merged together in the being before him, irretrievably mixed together in one incomprehensible tangle of life.

What an utterly baffling individual.

But there was no more time to waste on contemplation. He could feel Luke: frayed, frightened, but not in any immediate danger. The young man was somewhere below...clearly, he was no longer in the control room, and there was someone else with him, Solo, and Chewbacca. The life felt familiar, almost like an echo of Luke's own.

It must be the princess, he thought with a shock. She was here, on the Death Star, and Luke had initiated a plan to rescue her. More to the point, he had succeeded. He felt a warm glow of pride in the boy; it could not have been easy to break into a heavily-guarded detention cell.

He could sense that they were making their way back towards the ship, which meant it was time for him to leave. He could not feel Vader's precise location, but by now the monster had escaped his quarters and was heading directly towards him. Now they would face each other in a battle that could only end one way.

For the last time, Obi-Wan Kenobi went to war.

* * *

"Look, Your Worshipfulness, let's get one thing straight. I take orders from just one person: me!"

"It's a wonder you're still alive."

Hair still damp and rank from the dip into the garbage masher, Luke barely resisted an eyeroll. Despite Han's insistence on calling him 'kid', the smuggler was currently acting like a child. Princess Leia wasn't much better.

_I'm supposed to be the mature one? _he thought briefly as he followed the still-bickering pair along. _Uncle Owen would have a fit._

* * *

Their first duel had taken place on a massive industrial complex, starting on a landing pad and ending in a sea of lava. Their second duel was confined to a long, durasteel corridor within the heart of a mechanical monster. No one else was present; whether by luck or Vader's command Obi-Wan wasn't sure.

The Sith Lord was a figure of shadow, clothed from head to toe in black armor. Only the panels on his chest and the blood-red blade in his hand distinguished him from the wall behind him. Obi-Wan knew he looked much different, clad in his brown robe and white tunic: the uniform of his dead Order. Vader was the darkness to his light. He had always been so; back then Obi-Wan had simply been too blind to see it.

The Jedi Master remained where he was; though this fight was inevitable he would not start it.

"I've been waiting for you, Obi-Wan. We meet again at last." Vader's long stride ate up the long distance between them, bringing him just in front of his former master in only a few short seconds. "The circle is now complete. When I left you I was but the learner; now I am the master."

"Only a master of evil, Darth." Obi-Wan tilted his head, placing emphasis on the title. His own lightsaber was now ignited, but he made no move to attack. The first move was Vader's; though he was now a creature of malice and spite he had once been the best friend Obi-Wan had ever known. Obi-Wan would not strike the first blow.

So Vader did. He swept forward into a sequence Obi-Wan recognized, pure Djem So. Overhand cuts and long horizontal strikes: attempting to corral Obi-Wan, control his movements, and then dispose of him at leisure. Soresu was his defense, allowing him to parry those blows with the minimum of motion. Azure energy met the crimson cascade, shunting aside lethal strikes with only millimeters to spare, until Vader paused, drawing back for a quick recovery.

In that short span of time thirty-four attacks had been made. None of them had struck home, and all of them had come from Vader.

"Fight me, old man," Hatred burned in Vader's cold voice. "Do not die a coward."

"A Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defense," Obi-Wan said quietly, "never for attack. I fear that was just one more lesson I failed to teach you."

In the Force, Vader flared with rage. "Enough of your lectures! Did you not hear me? I am the master now!"

Obi-Wan shook his head sadly, regarding his former friend. "We never stop learning, Anakin. Not until we die. I learned many things from you, old friend. Many things I could never have grasped on my own."

"That name no longer has any meaning," Vader thundered, the Force black with anger. "You think to sway me with compassion, but I am stronger than the weak rules of the Jedi! Nor do I forget what you have taken from me, _Master_."

Vader attacked again, and Obi-Wan parried. The crimson blade rained down upon him, but the Jedi Master was never there when it hit.

"I never took anything from you, Anakin," Sorrow flowed out of the old master's voice. "You did it all yourself."

Vader did not reply in words; a roar of animalistic rage burst from his vocabulator and he redoubled his efforts. Still Obi-Wan did not fight back, though he was beginning to feel the strain. He was no longer a young man.

Another lull in the battle occurred, and while Obi-Wan caught his breath he saw the Dark Lord reach down to his belt and ignite a second lightsaber: the very viridian blade Obi-Wan had used to effect his escape. The Dark Lord struck with this new saber, and Obi-Wan was forced to step up his parries as his former apprentice attacked from different sides at once.

"This blade is interesting," Vader said, almost conversationally, while pressing down upon Obi-Wan's defense. "It is quite old; no Jedi have constructed lightsabers like this for some time. I was quite surprised when I recovered it. From where did you dig up this relic, old man?"

He leaned forward, somehow managing to convey a predatory anticipation even through the heavy black armor. Obi-Wan strained against the two blades, his own azure saber spitting sparks as it held the line, and made no comment.

"You will die here, Obi-Wan." Vader proclaimed. "I have foreseen it." He disengaged and swung both his weapons, but the strike was clumsy and inelegant; Anakin had never practiced Jar'Kai in earnest and it showed. Obi-Wan slipped beneath the double strike and lashed out, blue saber chopping across Vader's right shoulder and burning armor. The Sith Lord reeled back, sabers whirling instinctively into a defensive posture.

Obi-Wan stood, panting harshly, having struck his first blow. "On that," he managed, "we both agree."

Then he leaped forward. Vader charged to meet him, eager for the fight.

And battle was joined in earnest.

* * *

"Get back to the ship!"

"Where are you going?!" Luke shouted, but received no answer as Han and Chewbacca pelted down the hall at top speed. "Come back!" The only response he received was a Wookie roar as the dynamic duo pursued fleeing stormtroopers down a corridor that looked exactly the same as the one they had just come from.

"Well, he certainly has courage." Leia's brow was lifted wryly as she turned to face him.

It wasn't as if Luke could disagree with that, but he did believe Han was being more than a little reckless and was going to get himself killed. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do for the smuggler; he could only get Leia out and hope the two were lucky enough to find their own way back. He said as much and then ran the other way, pulling Leia along.

* * *

Once, they had been brothers, if such a loose word could describe their bond. Alone they were formidable, together they had been unstoppable: light and dark, passion and serenity harnessed together to protect the helpless and defend the weak. Now they fought each other, but the duality remained: forever would Obi-Wan be the light to Vader's shadow, the pool of calm tranquility to Vader's furious hurricane. One had found peace, the other raged in eternal hatred.

Their blades swept together again and again; Vader's violent, tempestuous blows halted and diffused by the azure storm Obi-Wan threw up against him. The master of Soresu slipped aside, never meeting his more powerful foe head on, refusing to play to his strengths. He cut and parried and ducked and spun, weaving a deadly tapestry of light that tempered Vader's aggression and forced him to look to his own defense instead of breaking Obi-Wan's own.

He was fighting better than he ever had; compared to the game he played now his duel with Grievous had been the clumsy fumblings of a child. It was ironic then, that he would lose this fight when he had won so many others with such lesser performances.

Black hatred poisoned the Force, sickening the Jedi Master even as he increased its potency by scoring a long hit across Vader's leg. The Sith Lord snarled and flung out a gauntleted hand; undiluted rage knocked Obi-Wan off his feet and into a bulkhead. He felt the impact heavily and rolled aside quickly before a viridian blade lanced into the metal, drawing a molten stripe down its surface.

"Your powers are weak, old man!" Vader thundered. Any pretense of self-control had long been washed away as the star-dragon that lurked within his mechanical heart emerged, in its full and terrible glory. The black-armored suit that contained his former apprentice lunged forward, sabers spinning in pinwheels of red and green. Obi-Wan let the rage-fueled attack push him back, not even trying to resist the onslaught. Subtle bursts of Force energy disrupted Vader's implacable charge, throwing off his timing and interfering with his planned attacks. It was something Obi-Wan had learned from Dooku, and something that Vader, for all his power and skill, would never truly be proficient at.

But he couldn't keep this up forever. He was an old man, and though the Force flowed strongly through him there was only one way this fight could end. His body ached from the effort of turning aside Vader's heavy blows, and it was only a matter of time before the Dark Lord got in a solid hit.

Still, though Vader had gotten steadily more powerful over the years, he had never managed to rid himself of the one trait that lost him Mustafar. It was a consequence of the rage he used to power himself; he would get so focused on his personal desires that he would forget the more important but less satisfying strategic objectives.

A crimson blur slashed down Obi-Wan's arm, drawing a grunt of pain. Simultaneously a black-booted foot slammed into the Jedi Master's stomach, launching him off his feet. Only a painful mid-air turn allowed him to return to a standing position and gather his tattered reserves of strength for the next assault so that sapphire fire met and turned aside scarlet and emerald blades.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and shoved those deadly blades aside. Though Vader was no virtuoso in the art of dual-wielding, he was a quick learner and those twirling blades were becoming harder and harder to keep track of. Eventually he would slip, and one of those whirls of color would strike, leaving him at the mercy of a man who detested him more than anyone else in the universe.

But all of that was understood and accepted. There was one regret Obi-Wan still had, and he would prefer to leave this life without it.

He would rather that the viridian blade now gripped in Vader's black gauntlet be returned to the woman with whom it had been interred. Though perhaps not its creator, she was almost certainly more deserving of it than the monster who wielded it now. A Jedi would not take up another's lightsaber unless as a gift, and such a bequest could only mean absolute trust. A trust he had betrayed by leaving that saber with the Sith Lord.

That was another mistake on his long, long list, but perhaps he could make this one right.

* * *

As they swung across the gaping chasm, only a thin line of tensile cable keeping them from falling to their inevitable deaths and with high-energy laser beams being fired at them from behind, Luke felt the urge to let out a scream for the thrill of it.

He declined, obviously. There was no reason to make the princess think he was crazy, not when she was already firmly convinced Han fell into that category. Besides, it projected a better image: he was the guy who stayed cool under pressure.

The kiss he'd received from the princess may or may not have had something to do with that decision.

From the corridor they'd just escaped, it was surprisingly easy to find a way back to the hangar. Luke wasn't sure why, actually; he was following his gut without any recognizable signs on the chrome walls. Still, somehow they ended up right behind Han and Chewie, as the latter pressed himself against a wall and the former peered out behind the door.

"What kept ya?" he muttered, but distraction meant his voice contained only a shadow of his customary sarcasm. Leia, surprisingly, didn't react.

"We ran into some old friends," she supplied, as she and Luke fell into line behind the two smugglers.

"Is the ship alright?" Luke asked. Han nodded, more a tight jerk of the head than a bob.

"Seems okay, if we can get to it," he muttered. "Just hope the old man got the tractor beam out of commission."

Luke frowned, but said nothing. Ben had done it; he was a Jedi Knight. There was no way he had failed. Still, he was wise enough not to start an argument, especially with a squad of stormtroopers only a few scarce meters away.

They waited for a moment, but the guards apparently had no plans to leave.

"Are you kidding me?" Han groaned. "Of all the times for stormtroopers to break discipline, they had to pick now?" Chewie moaned softly.

"What do you mean?" Luke asked. Apart from standing in a cluster, he couldn't see the stormtroopers doing anything else.

"Watch the body movements," the smuggler captain murmured. "They're talking about something, probably barrack gossip." He let out a word that Luke didn't understand. "They won't be moving for a while."

"So what do we do now?" Leia fidgeted, impatient. Luke sympathized; he wanted off this thing too.

"We'll wait for a bit," Han replied, "and if it doesn't get better we'll just have to rush 'em."

"That's your plan?" the Alderaanian princess scoffed, but it lacked her usual venom. Han turned, fixing her with a wry smile.

"Princess, if you've got a better one I'm all ears."

* * *

The fight subsided into a lull, probably its last one.

Obi-Wan had abandoned all efforts to control his breath, letting it come out fast and heavy. His lightsaber wavered, drooping periodically even with the two-handed grip he still held it in. Light burns marked his body in addition to the one that marred his arm; he'd sustained a shallow cut along his chest and a glancing blow to one leg.

"You should not have come back," Vader gloated, triumph apparent in his aura. Then he attacked once more. His lightsabers became blurs again, hammering relentlessly at Obi-Wan's own blade. Any true Jar'Kai practitioner would have been appalled at his technique; there was no finesse or true elegance in the brutal, raw blows that rained down upon Obi-Wan. Had he been in his prime, it would be a matter of simply waiting the storm out before timing a counterattack.

Now, he could only struggle to survive.

So caught up was he in defending himself that he barely noticed that a wall behind him was sliding open. A tongue of green flame darted towards his shin; he knocked it aside, spun to deliver a riposte, and caught a glimpse of a familiar, battered freighter.

Not his best diversion, then. How embarrassing, to draw Vader into a duel that simply brought them back to the very area he was attempting to keep the Sith Lord away from. Obviously he'd gone soft from two decades of seclusion.

Still, perhaps he could use this to his advantage -

Armored boots clattered, and a group of stormtroopers appeared, rushing towards him. Blasters were aimed but not fired; instead they closed in around him, cutting off any escape route but still giving Vader plenty of room to press him. Their movements were crisp and efficient; for a moment Obi-Wan wondered if any of the Imperial stormtroopers were still clones.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of blonde hair.

* * *

When the stormtroopers wandered off, Luke almost choked in surprise. Still, he was ready when Han whispered to go, and joined the others as they sprinted towards the ramp.

Then, a peculiar humming crackle caught his ear. Coming from the direction the troopers had ran off in, it sounded quite similar to the noise his father's lightsaber had made when he'd ignited it. That could only mean one thing, or rather one person.

Throwing caution to the wind, he peeled off in that direction. Fortunately, he didn't have to go far; the stormtroopers stood around some kind of open blast door while a brown-robed figure faced a much taller foe clad in black armor.

* * *

Obi-Wan should have been surprised. He should have been irritated. He should have been afraid for Luke's life. But none of that registered. Instead, he was overcome with a sudden feeling of absolute knowledge that he would die right here, right now. The Force sang to him, called him to take his place within its eternal current and surrender his sense of being.

For the first time in a long time, Obi-Wan resisted that call. His plan had indeed included his death, but now was not the time. Vader would kill him and reclaim his erstwhile son, and all hope would be lost. He could not surrender Luke to the darkness. There had to be another way.

And then, in a moment of revelation, the Force showed him.

A smile broke out upon chapped and weathered lips. There was no time to consider the ramifications and consequences of what he'd just learned. Instead, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and lifted his saber for the last time.

Vader swung, hatred fueling his strength -

And Obi-Wan Kenobi became one with the Force.

* * *

The cry of denial burst from Luke's lips unbidden, but he wouldn't have wanted to be silent in any case. All he could see was the killing stroke that cut through his teacher's body.

Laser bolts sizzled past him, one nearly singing his cheek, but he barely noticed. All he could see was the dark-armored form of his teacher's killer stomping mercilessly on Ben's brown cloak, as if trying to stamp out any remains of the old Jedi Master's body.

Wait.

Where _was _Ben's body?

Suddenly he was angry; was there anything the Empire wasn't going to take from him? He raised his blaster and fired. A stormtrooper jerked and fell, rolling into the hangar pit that separated the Falcon from the main corridors.

He fired again, and again; none of his shots hit but the need for retribution burned in his chest, a hot, dense core of raw hurt. Somebody needed to pay! Leia's voice rang in his ear, shouting at him, telling him it was too late, but he ignored it. Another stormtrooper went down; he noticed belatedly that Han was firing too, giving him support.

The remaining stormtroopers advanced, firing relentlessly; what they seemingly lacked in skill they more than made up for in volume. Still, Luke was confident he could take them...until the black-armored shadow turned and strode towards them, lightsabers still blazing.

"Blast the doors, kid!" he heard, and obeyed immediately. No matter how much he wanted Vader dead, he knew his limits. If Ben couldn't take him, how could he?

The control panel detonated in a flash of light; consequently, the blast doors began to close. Vader's stride lengthened, but the murderer was only able to reach the threshold before the massive doors closed in his face.

Unfortunately, at that precise moment another set of doors chose to open, depositing a full squad of stormtroopers into the hangar. Luke made to run for the ship, but a blistering hail of blasterfire forced him into cover behind a very flimsy stack of crates.

Their aim was getting better.

* * *

Vader didn't even bother with an expression of rage. Instead, he hurled a blast of Force energy so powerful it would have collapsed a building at the obstacles that continued to frustrate his ambitions.

He was learning to despise these blast doors.

The construction groaned as a visible dent appeared in the doors' center, but failed to blow off their hinges or fall apart in any way. No good. It was time for a more physical approach. A simple surge of will and his old teacher's lightsaber came flying towards the door. Instead of hurtling into his hand, it ignited with its distinctive snap-hiss and sank into the hardened metal, beginning the first cuts of a circle that would eventually encompass the frame of the doors.

Vader switched off the viridian saber and clipped it to his belt. With both hands he thrust his own blade into the metal, creating an opposing cut that would eventually meet up with the first. They would not escape him.

* * *

Luke crouched behind the pile of crates, wincing as more bolts thudded into his makeshift cover. There were too many, at least a dozen soldiers. He couldn't get them all. A risked peek over the top of the crates showed him that they were slowly advancing, circling around to get at his flanks. He tried a few shots that forced them back, but the answering volley of laserfire once again sent him back into cover.

Where was Han?

The answer to that was a sudden whine as something popped out of the _Falcon's _underbelly and opened fire. Rapid laser fire speared through a trio of troopers, dropping them immediately and forcing the rest to find some kind of cover.

He glanced back at the top of the ramp; Leia appeared, shouting something that was lost over the screech of blaster bolts. Still, it didn't take a genius to figure out what she wanted and he took the chance, darting out from behind the crates and charging up the ramp, where he almost tripped over something lying on the floor.

"Stang-"

His curse cut short as he realized the obstacle was actually a woman, dressed in nondescript brown robes. He was definitely sure she hadn't been there before - until he recognized the small silver cylinder hanging from one belt.

A Jedi! But how -

Ben. Ben must have rescued her from somewhere on the Death Star, maybe another detention level. Immediately, his spirits lifted. Maybe she could teach him the ways of the Jedi when Ben couldn't. He wasn't the last, then! This could only be good news; with a Jedi on their side the Rebellion's chances were astronomically higher.

But first they had to escape.

The sobering thought immediately straightened his priorities, and he ran to the cockpit, passing by the droids in the hold. Han and Chewie were already at the controls, with Leia sitting tensely in a seat behind them.

"Strap in, kid," was Han's terse greeting, "as soon as I finish the start-ups we'll be blowing space. I hope the old man got the tractor beam off-line, or this is gonna be a real short trip."

Unable to contain himself, Luke burst out, "There's a Jedi on the ship! Ben must have rescued her-"

"Yeah, I noticed," The smuggler's shoulders remained tense. "Are you guys breeding or something? I didn't sign up to transport another one; this one's going to cost you extra."

Unconsciously, Luke's hands clenched.

"Shut up," Leia hissed. To his credit, Han's face paled once he realized his mistake.

"Look, I'm sorry, kid. Just forget about it."

Forgetting about it was the last thing Luke wanted to do. Ben was dead, had died trying to save their lives, and Han was worried about money? Was that the only thing he cared about? He should teach that arrogant, selfish, cocky rogue a lesson -

_Luke, let go of your anger. That way lies the dark side._

The voice in his head sounded like Ben. The words, too. Sadness hit him, dousing the anger like heavy rain on a fire. He lowered his head; his fists loosened.

"Yeah. Okay."

Han didn't turn around, but Leia did, and spared him a worried look before returning to shadow Han's progress. Luke stared out the viewport; by this time the only stormtroopers visible were flat on their backs or on their stomachs, courtesy of the repeating blaster.

"How much longer is this going to take?" Leia's question was a good one. It couldn't be long before reinforcements were sent to secure the ship.

"Two minutes or so," Han replied.

"That long? We'll be back in the brig!"

"Hey!" The smuggler snapped, "I'll have you know a three-minute start-up sequence is about as fast as you can get, Your Royalness!"

"He's right," Luke interjected quietly. "That's faster than any ship I've heard of."

"_Thank _you," Han muttered. Chewie roared, presumably in agreement.

"Don't worry, princess, we'll be out of here in no time. Then we can discuss my payment."

Many years later, during the retelling of this story, Luke would speculate that the Force had its own sense of humor. He would even laugh at this was only one more instance in its long line of attempts to frustrate Han Solo's plans.

But those moments were far away, and the last thing on his mind was laughter. For several meters away, two metal doors exploded outwards in a cascade of twisted metal. The detritus clattered to the floor, and through the massive tear stepped a figure straight out of nightmare. Tall and foreboding, with a long black cloak that trailed behind it as it walked, its grim helmet was no human face but rather the countenance of some saurian predator. Luke was reminded of the savage krayt dragons that populated Tatooine and he shivered with reflexive fear. In its hands hummed two lightsabers; one as red as freshly-spilled blood, the other a summer-sky blue.

Words abandoned the would-be Jedi; instead only a choked sob escaped his lungs. He recognized that blue blade.

Chewbacca let out a roar of what had to be hate, and before anybody could react, the Wookie copilot stabbed a hairy finger down onto one of the control panels. Immediately red bolts blazed out from the _Falcon's _underside as the repeating blaster whined to life.

The thing in black simply raised both blades, crossing them in an 'X' before it. Spears of energy that had cut down the elite of the Imperial army spent their scarlet fury on two impenetrable shafts of light, sparking against the colorful blades.

Then, without warning an explosion rocked the ship, nearly shaking everyone from their seats.

"What happened?" Leia demanded, always the first to question. "What's going on?"

"I don't know!" Han shouted, fingers dancing over the control panels. "The gun's gone; it overloaded or something-"

"No," Luke said quietly. "He deflected the shots."

Han swiveled, face twisted in anger and not a little fear. "Look kid, I know the old man was filling your head with nonsense about his 'Force', but deflecting stun bolts from training remotes is one thing. Blocking a real gun is another-"

"How about you stop arguing and get us the hell out of here!" Leia screeched.

Despite having his rant cut off, the smuggler showed heroic restraint in not retorting. He and Chewbacca began punching buttons, pulling levers, and manipulating controls. The _Falcon _rose from the deck on its repulsorlifts, rotating in preparation to leave the monster and its doomsday weapon behind.

But then, an explosion rocked the ship again. Once again the Corellian swore, fingers flying across the controls. The freighter listed slightly to starboard but settled back to the hangar deck before a spectacular crash could occur.

Once the ship was down safely, Han slammed his fists down on the panel, letting loose a torrent of swears. Beside him, Chewie let out another long roar of anger.

"What?!" Leia shouted, grabbing Han's shoulder. "What happened?!"

"Blasted bucket-head damaged one of the sublight power converters!"

"Well then, fix it!" Leia's voice cracked like a whip, so loud that Luke winced.

"We can reroute power lines to jury-rig a connection, but that involves climbing out on the ship, and there's no way in hell I'm doing that now!" The smuggler stabbed a finger at the menacing figure visible through the cockpit's transparisteel viewport.

Luke gulped. The idea of facing that monster was enough to turn his stomach. To fight the Emperor's right hand? Even Ben hadn't managed it! None of them had a chance against him. But...they didn't need to _beat _him, did they? Just stall him long enough for Han to effect the repairs.

His fingers caressed the hilt of the lightsaber Ben had given him. His father's, who'd been killed by Darth Vader for daring to fight against the Empire. Could he do any less? It wasn't as if they had a choice; do nothing and they'd be back in Detention Block AA-23.

"Han, go. I'll distract Vader."

His companions' reactions were about what he'd expected: Chewie turned his massive head to stare quizzically at him, Han stopped pounding the dashboard to fling a few choice insults his way, and Leia went so far as to grab him.

"Luke, it's too dangerous! He'll kill you!"

"Not that it would be much of a loss if you're that stupid!" Han yelled.

"There's no choice, okay?" He was quite proud of how level his voice remained. "Do nothing and we're dead, but if I can hold him off, maybe we can still get out of here."

"I can't let you do this-" Leia stormed, but he ignored her and focused his stare on Han, willing the smuggler to see the truth. Han held his gaze for a moment, then sighed and stood up.

"It's stupid enough to work," he conceded, immediately grabbing a toolbox. "I'll work fast, kid."

"You're not going alone," Leia declared, snatching Luke's blaster from his lap. "I'm not letting that monster kill anyone else." Chewie loosed a howl that only Han could understand, but his tone left no doubts about his resolve to stand with them.

The weight on Luke's heart lightened, just a bit.

"All right," he agreed, "we'll take him together."

* * *

_In the darkness, there was nothing. No consciousness, no sense of self. Nothing existed in the void. This was as natural in the realm of the mind as it was in the physical world; without thought nothing could ever hope to be. And yet there was no true lack of substance, for the structures that would naturally form from such thoughts did abide, dormant. Yet this half-existence was nothing; to truly matter, they required a will that would move them to action, to struggle, to _life.

_But like the absence of the spark that would birth a fire, no such will existed. And so the structures, the hopes and beliefs and quirks that composed a person, remained cold and inactive._

Help them.

_The woman who was a composite of these paltry constituents did not exist, at least not now. Given time she would naturally be released into the waking world, but there was no time. The Force was all, and its will was that she awaken to do what must be done._

_As always, the Force found a way._

* * *

Vader was pleased. The ship was disabled and with Obi-Wan dead, none of the occupants aboard could possibly match him. The plans were now firmly in the Empire's grasp, and the would-be escapees were his to dispose of at his leisure.

The familiar whine of a loading ramp activating caught his audio receptors; curious. He had not expected that; there was nothing to gain from lowering the ramp except allowing him swifter entry. Perhaps they had a plan.

Yes, of course. They would no doubt attempt to distract him while the vessel's pilot tried to repair their ship. A bold plan; the fact that it would not work did not detract from the audacity of their manner.

With his boots thumping steadily against the polished hangar deck, he approached the ramp. The helmet's optical receptors caught a Wookie and three humans standing at the top of the ramp; one of course was the princess, clutching a standard-issue E-11 blaster rifle. The other two were males, one older than the other who bore no weapons but instead a toolbox. His compatriot, the last prisoner, bore something in his hands - a lightsaber?

Vader began to move forward, to confront the young upstart, and then -

The most powerful Force presence he'd ever felt blossomed in his perceptions, a blazing star that radiated energy. It was pure power, perhaps more so than even that which the Emperor possessed. Was the youth so powerful? If so, then he might be more of a challenge than Vader had first thought.

Then, he heard the distinctive snap-hiss of a lightsaber. He readied his stance, raised his guard to battle the young one - except the boy hadn't ignited his weapon, and was looking behind him with mouth slack-jawed in wonder, as were the Wookie and the princess. The smuggler was not; he had already darted away, vaulting up onto his ship's external structure, but Vader let him go.

This was far more interesting.

From behind the youth a brilliant lightsaber blade blazed with light, but in an unmistakable shade of cyan, rather than in a simple blue or green. Its wielder leaped forward, breezing past the startled boy, and Vader caught a glimpse of a face: skin like porcelain, raven hair cropped short, and steel-grey eyes set in absolute determination.

Then she swung, and Vader barely intercepted that beautiful blade with his own. As he flung her weapon aside and aimed down a tremendous two-handed blow, all thoughts of the smuggler, the youth, and the imminent danger of escape fled his mind. Now there was only the mysterious Jedi who burned like the heart of the Force itself.

Most interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

The damned converter was dead. Blasted bucket-head had done a number on it with Kenobi's laser sword; it was lodged straight into the mechanism. The man had pretty good aim, Han had to admit; not to mention a killer arm. The throw had stuck the kriffing relic so deep there was no way Han was pulling it out.

Trying to ignore the fight between Vader and the crazy Jedi (they were all crazy, going up against Vader like that), Han inched up along the _Falcon's_ port mandible, using his legs to crawl over the upper lip. The power converter, one of many that channeled the ship's energy output to the systems that needed it, was completely severed; it couldn't be repaired, only replaced, and now was not the time for that. However, this wasn't the first time a converter had shorted out. The ship's other converters could handle the power requirements, but the connections needed to be rerouted first. He needed to adjust the connections at this converter and reroute them by jury-rigging temporary connections and piggy-backing off pre-existing power flows. Then, he'd then need to recalibrate each remaining converter to accept the new power load. It wasn't going to be difficult - he'd done it before countless times - but it would be time-consuming, and time was not something they looked to have much of.

Han allowed himself a single look at the fight. A mistake; a tremendous horizontal swing missed the crazy Jedi girl by a hairbreadth as a one-handed cartwheel saved her from decapitation. He nearly saw his own life flash before his eyes and let out a sigh of frustration. As much as he hated to admit it, his life was tied to hers. if Vader killed her the rest of them would follow.

Well, if the _Falcon _was dead they wouldn't be going anywhere, even if Darth Helmet over there kicked the bucket. Best work quickly, then. He pulled out a hydrospanner, an electrostatic drill, and as an afterthought three rolls of high-density mag-tape. Then he set to it.

* * *

The duel between Sith and Jedi quickly dissolved into a whirl of color and motion.

Luke had to strain his eyes to even get an idea of what was going on, and he suspected he still missed much of it. The two combatants were blurs as they spun round in a deadly dance. Their sabers spat sparks as they clashed, shrieking through the air at speeds faster than a normal being could react and with strength far greater than that same life-form could ever muster.

The Jedi was everywhere, airborne as often as not, robes whirling and hair flapping wildly with the speed of her movements. Never stationary even for a second, her body flowed easily through empty space. Her lightsaber struck so quickly the blade became a cyan haze; it seemed as if the Sith Lord stood within a whirlwind of blue lightning. Vader was a bulwark of shadow upon which the storm of light broke; his inability to match his opponent's agility made him the eye of a crimson hurricane. Every strike was deflected, every blow turned aside before it could touch.

Then Vader turned a sudden riposte into a slash so fast his blade flickered. The Jedi's body seemed to flow aside from the blow into an upward leap, and then Vader thrust, the angle of his crimson blade set to enter his enemy from below and burn its way through to her spinal cord. Caught in the air and with no way to dodge, the Jedi was trapped, and Luke almost cried out in horror.

The Jedi's hand flashed out and suddenly she was hurtling sideways so Vader's saber pierced only air. Then she was back on the ground, rolling past him. It seemed her trajectory would carry her far away from her opponent, but then she twisted and abruptly reversed direction, momentum carrying her back towards Vader in a smooth forward thrust that aimed to impale the Sith Lord's back. Vader pivoted on his feet, folds of black armorweave billowing out behind him, and his blade knocked aside another flickering stab of cyan light. Sabers shrieked as they met again, grinding against each other, their lethal intentions thwarted. The air grew heavy with the tang of ozone and burnt air.

With a sudden screech, Vader's blade no longer had any opposition. It carved a two-handed arc of red death through the space where the Jedi's throat should have been, but said Jedi was gone, rolling deftly under the executioner's saber to spring to her feet behind him; she aimed a short flurry of thrusts that were smashed brutally aside as Vader spun, swinging his saber out in a long horizontal slash. He followed through with a series of powerful downward blows, pressing forward relentlessly until his foe vaulted through the air to land at his back again and start the entire cycle of battle over.

* * *

Such power.

Vader's breath rang loudly in his own ears, as it always did, but he had long since inured himself to the sound.

The Jedi was a master of Ataru; he'd needed only the first seconds of the duel to gauge that. Even now, as she spun and flipped and slashed every which way like a hurricane, she exemplified the central tenets of the style: strike fast, move faster, and outmaneuver your opponent.

It was strange; though he recognized the style, it was different than any other practitioner he'd seen. There was something archaic about its movements, an almost regal cast to the way she moved, both on ground and in the air. Despite any deviances, she was a true master of the form.

Cyan and crimson slammed together once more as hisspin intercepted her saber's flurry. The Jedi twirled elegantly, slipping free of the blade lock before his overwhelming strength forced her down and once again shot skyward.

A mistake. Vader gathered the Force and hit her with it as he would swing a mining hammer. The Jedi vanished in a swirl of brown robes, acrobatics turning to a clumsy tumble as the Force seemed to rebel against her. Her small body fell to the floor with an audible thump but she was up in a flash, lightsaber still lit and ready.

Impressive.

"You are powerful, Jedi," His vocabulator stole any trace of emotion that might have been present, leaving the words monotone and mechanical. The woman rose, sweeping stray tufts of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. Her eyes never wavered.

"The Jedi Council is no more, but you were not among their ranks and because they are all dead, you could not have been trained by one. A most intriguing state of affairs." The dark lord began to circle his prey, boots thumping against the deck in a steady rhythm. Instead of circling with him, the Jedi merely pivoted as he strode around her. Those grey eyes tracked him. Watching him, analyzing him. Giving nothing away. There was something almost Sith about the way she looked at him, waiting for him to slip, to reveal a weakness...and then strike.

This was no ordinary Jedi.

Not only that, but the way his words seemed to flow off her, failing to stoke her anger or stimulate her fear. The way of the Jedi was detachment; when connected to the Force through serenity and focus, they were formidable. It was not an easy thing to contend with; blinded by rage, he'd tried that on Mustafar. He had never forgotten the lessons he'd learned there.

But only the greatest of Jedi could master their emotions like that. Yes, he thought with a snort, Obi-Wan had been one of them. Though all trace of the love and friendship between them had shriveled to black malice in the flames of Mustafar, his old Master had truly been a Jedi to fear and respect. Most Jedi did not have his composure or fortitude, and it was a simple matter to play with their emotions and shatter their concentration. Their serenity was only a thin veneer; when shattered, they fought like Sith. Unused to harnessing their emotions, they then fell easily.

It was still worth attempting Dun Moch to see if she had a shatterpoint, and where it would be.

"Do you know where you are, Jedi?"

Again, no answer. He didn't need one; of course she didn't. Though he'd not had enough time to closely examine the pod, it was clearly a Force-empowered device projecting some kind of stasis field. It shone like a beacon of light in the Force, making it clear that its purpose was to nurture its occupant instead of simply containing them.

A thought came quickly to him, born of deduction and speculation. The design of the pod had been archaic, a far cry from modern examples of stasis devices. With the Jedi before him wearing robes in an outdated style he'd never seen before, she was clearly from another age. All this, if true, meant that the girl had been interred long ago, and in some misguided attempt to preserve her from time's ravaging touch. Then, she wouldn't know of the events that had occurred during her long slumber.

Beneath his mask, Darth Vader's burnt lips curled into a horrific sneer.

"You have slept too long, Jedi. Your order has failed, and once more the Sith rule the galaxy."

* * *

Ren Olharr was not having a good day.

First she'd been shot down on an unknown world and forced to play diplomat to a bunch of hostile aliens. Then she'd fought through a temple full of Sith to disable the energy projector defending the Star Forge, confronted her best friend who'd turned to the dark side despite a stint as the galaxy's most sanctimonious Jedi, and then launched a suicidal assault on an alien superweapon with the fate of the galaxy hanging in the balance. That had ended badly; the last thing she remembered was stabbing Malak in the chest before collapsing from a massive gut wound.

And now she was in some kind of hangar with no memory of getting there, wearing robes she didn't remember donning and fighting a black-armored Sith to protect people she'd never seen before.

She was fine now - still no idea how that had happened - but during the entire duel she'd been nursing a stabbing headache which was eating at her concentration.

_Disoriented_ was putting it lightly.

And then the Sith had to go and drop either the biggest lie she'd ever heard or the most terrifying truth she never wanted to know. She stretched out with the Force, hoping that he was lying-

The Force pulsed, and in the grip of its current she felt nothing but truth, which made the situation even worse. Still, why was he talking so much anyway? Of course the Sith on Korriban were a talkative lot, but for them it was usually inventive death threats or ridiculous bragging -

"_Detachment is the tool of a Jedi. They shut themselves off from passion and create a false serenity, but it is a fragile thing. The walls they throw up around their emotions are weak, and with choice words or acts you can easily shatter them. Then they will fight like wild animals, all passion and fury, but then they are fighting on our terms. I trust I don't need to tell you the result of that?"_

_"No, Lord Revan!"_

Ren hated those flashbacks. That cold voice, unmistakably hers but oily and tinged with some special malice. It made her cringe, but this time, at least, the remembrance imparted some useful information.

It wasn't her style to banter during battles, like she knew a lot of Jedi did. But, seeing as she was apparently missing something big, it was probably worth letting out some feelers.

"How did it happen this time?" She injected a little sarcasm, some aggravation, and a healthy bit of irritation. It helped to shield against the sudden panic that threatened to overwhelm her shaky calm.

How had the Sith won? For Force's sake, the crew of the _Hawk _had practically handed the Republic their victory on a platter! She'd killed Malak herself by sticking her lightsaber through his chest! There shouldn't have been many Dark Jedi or Sith acolytes left on the Star Forge, if any, not after that final showdown on the command deck.

Well, that would be something to make fun of Bastila about. If she could find her.

The Sith Lord interrupted her reverie, that toneless mechanical voice cutting into her thoughts. There was a hint of confusion, of contemplation in his words; if she wasn't imagining it.

"Your comrades rebelled against the Republic, and paid for it with their lives. Their weakness and their treachery saw them fall, and the galaxy is better off without their feeble influence."

Ren was only half-listening; the Force whispered _Lies, lies _into her ears, and honestly there were better things to do, like flip through the air halfway through his sentence and try a Hawk-Bat Swoop on that helmet.

She had to give him credit; the Sith Lord finished his sentence with nary a hitch in that mechanical speech while snapping his blade up in a move that not only blocked her slash but also forced her to flip again to dodge a precisely-aimed thrust.

"Impressive," the Sith remarked. "Your style is quite intricate; I recognize Ataru when I see it. But Cin Drallig's variant was much less...dynamic."

The name meant nothing to her. Was he talking about a lightsaber instructor? Why would a Sith care about that, unless he was a former Jedi? Granted, thanks to Revan most of them were, but they weren't usually interested in the past training and education of their foes.

Maybe some banter would help her get more information. She tried to think of something.

"You look like you've been learning Makashi from a bantha. I mean, please. Your footwork is all wrong, you're too slow and you keep acting like you want to use Form V. If this is the state of the mighty Sith Empire now it doesn't matter if you still have the Star Forge, or even if Malak's still alive. A youngling could dance rings around all of you!"

There. That was good banter, right? Mission would be proud.

Apparently it was _very _good, because the Sith Lord's guard dropped a fraction; whether from surprise or disdain she couldn't tell because of his armored face and body. _Strike, _her instincts said, so she did. Ren called upon the Force and swept forward, driving the long point of her saber towards the Sith's neck.

* * *

Contrary to the belief of many, Darth Vader was not simply the iron hand of the Emperor. Many years of studying both the dark side and secular, military matters had honed his mind to a fine edge, capable of making rapid-fire deductions in split-seconds.

Most of the banter the Jedi hurled at him was a pathetically-transparent attempt to distract him. His burnt lips curled in a contemptuous sneer, then he paused. The Sith Empire? There had been no such thing since the remnants of Darth Ruin's New Empire had been replaced by Kaan's Brotherhood of Darkness, thousands of years ago.

The Star Forge...Palpatine had insisted that he study the histories of the Sith rigorously, and so he knew of the ancient Rakatan space station, vaguely. According to the histories, it had been a powerful war machine destroyed almost four thousand years ago, during the climactic last battle of the Jedi Civil War. The battle had also claimed the life of Darth Malak, where he'd been slain by his former master, the redeemed Sith Lord Revan.

So this Jedi was four thousand years old, as old as Celeste Morne. The sheer magnitude of that revelation would have stopped his breath, if he could still control it. A Jedi who fought in the Old Sith Wars with an unmatched connection to the Force. Such possibilities existed, if she could be turned.

And in that moment where Vader's great intellect was contemplating the potential of this unnamed Jedi, it was not focusing on how best to defend against that same Jedi.

Suddenly a blade of plasma was there, surging towards him; caught off-guard, he stepped sideways in an attempt to bypass the blade but the Jedi stutter-stepped forward, slid her feet in the same movement and pushed off, bringing the blazing cyan point back towards his chest. Still, he'd bought himself some time; with a flick of his blade he slid the lunge aside, altering its angle and striking for her stomach.

Again, with the same deft speed she'd displayed throughout the duel, the Jedi followed her blade by throwing herself forward. Her free hand touched the ground; at the same time her lower torso catapulted sideways. The red blade hissed by harmlessly. Vader pivoted, preparing to defend -

And then he was staggering backwards, helmet ringing and head throbbing. He cast around, saw the Jedi's leg pull back from the kick that had landed on his temple, and then she was back on her feet, swinging at him with wild abandon.

Vader deflected the blow, anger contorting his features beneath the mask. This farce had gone on long enough; now was the time to end it. With nary a thought, the other lightsaber on his belt snapped free and hurtled into his hand. Its viridian blade ignited with a satisfying thrum of energy.

* * *

For a moment, Ren wasn't sure what she was looking at, or why it had caught her intention. True, it was strange to see a Sith Lord wield a blade of any color besides red, but there was really no reason that second lightsaber should catch her attention.

Wait. That hilt looked familiar. Her temples pulsed with agony; she could feel the flashback coming on -

"_Rionach!"_

"_Huh?" The black-haired girl, until now engrossed in a datapad, snapped her head up and was promptly tackled into the wall behind her._

"_Sorry!"_

"_S'okay..." Rionach ruffled her surprise guest's white hair as she disentangled herself. "What's the big rush about?"_

_Meetra beamed as she stood up; Rionach noted with displeasure how much taller the girl already was than her. "I built it!"_

"_Really?" The older Padawan threw the datapad aside, to land forgotten on the seat. "That's great!"_

_The white-haired Padawan, fresh out of the creche, shoved something at her. Rionach backpedaled, hands held in the air. "Wait, Meetra! That's your life now! You don't just hand it to anybody!"_

_Meetra cocked an eyebrow at her, somewhat bemused. "You're not just anybody. Just take it." With another shove, she pressed it into her friend's hands. _

_It was, of course, a lightsaber. Rionach swelled with pride as she examined it; the hilt made of standard-issue durasteel components but shaped in elegant curves that emulated a living organism. Though the lightsaber itself was of the usual design, there were just enough hints in its make to determine the wielder's preferred style. It was the older girl's turn to cock an eyebrow as she looked back at her junior._

"_You've chosen Makashi? This early? If I remember correctly, your dueling skills leave something to be desired."_

_Meetra flushed, ivory skin reddening. "That's why I've chosen it, though." Rionach observed with approval that her words remained steady despite her agitated features. "If I can master it, I can master any form. Discipline is important."_

"_There is no chaos, there is harmony." Rionach recited, grinning. "I like it." She made as if to hand it back, then paused. "What color is it?"_

_Green eyes sparkled. "Try it and find out."_

_Rionach snorted, but held out the weapon and depressed the activation stud. With a robust snap-hiss, a blade of pure emerald light emerged from the emitter, flashing into beautiful existence. The same color as Meetra's eyes._

"_Heh," the older girl chuckled as she extinguished the weapon, "it suits you."_

The memory passed swiftly, and once again she was back in her body opposite the Sith Lord. As far as appearances went, nothing had changed.

"I'll give you one chance, Sith. Give it back."

To this ridiculous request, the Sith Lord only wheezed a mechanical, bitter laugh. He lifted the green blade, twirling it mockingly.

"Come take it, Jedi."

* * *

Luke watched, stunned, as the calm scene exploded once more into violent combat. But this time was different.

Once again the Jedi was a whirlwind of motion, slashing furiously at her enemy who stood within a tempest of crimson and viridian light. The blades came together again and again, sending up flares of light that cast the entire hangar bay in weird shades of purple and green. Vader was a shadow, cape billowing behind him as he struck with his twin weapons again and again. There was something more frenetic about his motions, though; an air of desperation heretofore absent.

And the Jedi...gone were the acrobatic moves, the graceful elegance of momentary flight. Now, with her feet planted firmly on the ground, she struck again and again, relentlessly inexorable. The cyan blade was a violent dervish that danced unpredictably back and forth but smashed against Vader's blades with the force of a bull krayt dragon's charge. Sidesteps and dodges were used only when necessary, and ground regained as quickly as was lost.

She was fighting, Luke realized belatedly, like Vader.

Perhaps the monster realized it, for he changed tactics. The crimson blade in his right hand slid her overhand blow aside; a short stab from the other saber forced her back for a moment. In that crucial second, the man in black deactivated his own saber and clipped it to his belt. Then, hand free, he made a fist.

The effect was immediate; the Jedi dropped her saber, which extinguished itself and rolled forlornly away. Her hands, now empty, went to her throat, clutching at a phantom threat. What was happening?

Leia got it first. "He's choking her!" she shouted, and raised her blaster. Before she could shoot, a howl came from beside her. Chewbacca aimed his long rifle and opened up, the barrel blazing with ruby light. Leia fired a few seconds after, working the trigger as fast as she could.

Vader simply turned, maintaining the choke. The fusillade of blasterfire simply impacted on the single green blade; with an elegant flourish he sent the bolts back. There was a howl of pain, and Chewbacca fell, hairy paws clutching at his smoking leg.

The Jedi was on her knees now, gasping for air that wouldn't come. One hand outstretched itself at Vader and his tall frame staggered back but the choke remained unbroken. Leia fired again, and again Vader batted the bolt away.

Was there nothing they could do?

Luke reached instinctively for his blaster, but instead his hand encountered the lightsaber at his waist. His father's weapon, given to him by Ben. He knew what his father would have done, but could he do it too?

* * *

The dark side of the Force surged through Vader's body, filling him with unimaginable hatred, such as had caused thousands of wars and uncounted billions of deaths. He enjoyed every second of it, watching the Jedi struggle for her last breaths as her life slowly slipped away.

All thoughts of strategy, of turning her considerable power to his cause fled his mind.

For while he focused the blinding power of his anger upon his enemy, he could forget for a moment - too short and already slipping away - that no Jedi could ever elicit even a fraction of the inferno of loathing he reserved for himself.

But for this moment, no matter how short it might be, he would revel in the satisfaction of watching another Jedi die.

Then, a lightsaber activated with its distinctive hiss.

Triumph soured and morphed into annoyance immediately; it must be the youth, attempting a desperate rescue. How pathetic, if admirably courageous. It would be a simple matter to dispatch him. After all, what was one half-trained apprentice against the scourge of the Jedi? Vader turned back towards the ramp - and stopped, his thoughts screeching to a halt.

How had he not recognized that hilt? It was practically a twin to the one on his belt. The youth who held it was trembling noticeably, his eyes wide with fear...but his grip was good, if unsteady and inexperienced. The Force surrounded him in wisps and clouds, thin and immaterial. It spoke of power, of potential, of promise. And of something more...but before Vader could ponder it the boy charged forward with a wild cry, swinging his blade equally savagely. It was clumsy and unpracticed, but a surprisingly good rendition of a Shi-Cho maneuver.

Vader crossed his blades before him, catching sapphire flame in prongs of emerald and crimson. Then, with a smooth motion he pushed his blades down, neatly pulling the youth's weapon out of his hands. As he twisted, the viridan blade fell from his hand, extinguishing itself and clattering on the durasteel deck. He reached out, the Force sang, and the boy's blade hurtled into his empty fist.

It felt like coming home.

Darth Vader faced the defenseless boy, Jedi legacy and Sith symbol in his hands, and felt the rage return to him once more. Who was Obi-Wan to give this untrained peasant his weapon? This affront would have earned the Jedi Master untold agonies and torments, had he not already been consigned to the depths of the Force. He was beyond Vader's reach, damn him -

But his student was not.

"Obi-Wan should have trained you better, young one," Vader rumbled. Through the Force he saw the black cloud of fear engulf his young foe, even as he faced the Dark Lord and refused to step back. Wait - the cloud coiled in on itself instead of expanding to engulf the boy; it still threatened to paralyze and sap his will, but somehow he was keeping it in check - barely.

The boy had potential. Perhaps it would not be so conducive to dispatch him. Vader dismissed his rage, felt it retreat back to the molten furnace of his heart.

"You do not need to die here," the Dark Lord said. "You have power, child; swear to serve the Empire and not only will I spare you, I will complete your training. You will become more powerful than Obi-Wan ever was; I can sense it."

The boy's eyes widened; so did Vader's under his helmet, as the Force roiled with the suddenly-released poison of hatred, black and bitter within the currents of life.

"Join you?! Never!" the boy spat, eyes the color of the summer sky suddenly narrowing with implacable odium. "You killed my father!"

So then he was of Jedi lineage; unsurprising given his power. But this was perfect; already he boiled with the potency of the dark side. Fear, anger, despair fought for control within him. As precariously balanced as he was, it would only take the slightest push to topple him into the darkness' eager embrace.

"Oh?" He would ask the youth his sire's name; perhaps he would even recognize it. "And who was that?"

* * *

_Finally, _it was done. Han shoved the spanner and the drill back into his toolbox; he'd used up all the tape because some of the cables wouldn't stay put. Still, at least they were all connected, the power converters were recalibrated, and he was fairly sure none of it would blow up.

But as he tugged one last time at the old man's laser sword and failed to get it out, the ruckus on the ground caught his attention: the Jedi girl was facedown on the floor, twitching pathetically. The kid had somehow gotten away from the ramp like the naive idiot he was, and now was standing directly in front of Vader - Darth Vader! - with fists clenched looking like he was about to throw a punch. As for Dark Helmet himself, he'd somehow switched out his green laser sword for a blue one - where were all these things coming from, anyway? - and might have been contemplating leaving Luke in two pieces on the deck.

Kriff that. Han knew he lied to himself about a lot of things, and one of those was how much he liked the kid. He wasn't going to let tall, black, and nasty waste that farmboy if he could help it. His hand crept to the DL-44 still holstered at his waist; Vader might be able to manage fancy tricks with those miniature light shows, but Han Solo was still the best shot this side of Kessel. A single shot through that overlarge helmet should do the trick.

He never got the chance.

Luke screamed something at the masked lunatic -were those tears?. He gestured, he raged. He even stomped his foot once. And then, fury vented and grief released, his small frame seemed to shrink even more as he collapsed in on himself, sobbing quietly.

Vader's reaction was...a total non-reaction. At least at first. He stared forward, blades humming in his fists. Maybe he just didn't care, and was letting the kid humiliate himself to get his kicks. Kriff, that would be just like him. Han nearly tried a shot right then, except something utterly, bafflingly strange happened. Again. Vader's lightsabers went off.

Then, the most terrible being Han had ever had the displeasure of seeing put away his weapons and stepped forward. One black gauntlet reached out towards Luke's trembling form, and Han yanked the pistol from his side.

He didn't get a shot off that time either.

Something rattled next to him; he turned to see Kenobi's laser sword vibrating inside the converter, shaking wildly, but only for a moment - in a flash it was gone. He pivoted to follow its path but couldn't see it clearly until it ignited and drove itself into Vader's outstretched arm.

The man screamed, a howl of distorted static more machine than anything organic. Han could have sworn the scream itself had power; it nearly knocked him from his perch. He reeled back, clutching at the humming blade that was now embedded in his arm.

Then the Jedi leaped upward from the floor. She seemed to flow through the air, so easily did she navigate the empty space. Her trajectory landed her right next to Vader; her leg snapped out and took him in the chest, causing the much-taller man to double over. As he did so, she took hold of the still-burning lightsaber in his arm and _yanked. _

Metal shrieked and parted and sparked, and one half of Vader's arm fell to the floor. The Jedi girl gestured, and Vader flew backwards as if he'd been hit by a speeder doing ninety kph. He smashed into the wall, helmet flying backwards to impact with a nasty thump that looked like it might have broken something.

Well, that was probably his cue. The smuggler slid down off the freighter and onto the hangar deck; his ankles protested at the landing. Eh, he'd have time to complain once they blew this joint.

* * *

As Vader's massive body smashed into the far side of the hangar with enough force to rattle the deck, Luke's only thought was _How am I not dead yet?_

Actually, the better question was, why did Vader put out his lightsabers? The monster had killed his father and was taunting him about it; he'd killed so many Jedi he might not even remember Luke's father's name!

Wait...that wasn't right...he'd put away his sabers in response to the name of Anakin Skywalker and _reached out. _Did he regret killing Anakin Skywalker? Ben had said they were friends; maybe even Vader could feel?

As if.

Han's voice bellowed out from the ramp, "Come on, kid! We gotta go!"

Before he could get up, a hand gripped the back of his tunic and yanked him backwards. He caught a glimpse of dark hair and grey eyes, before the Jedi turned and ran for the ship's ramp, bearing him along like he was nothing.

Stormtroopers began to pour out the doors, - really, after all this time? - firing ceaselessly. Most of the bolts went wild, as Luke had come to expect from stormtroopers. Those that would have left uncomfortable souvenirs, the Jedi batted aside with Ben's blade. Somehow every bolt found its way back to its originator, and more white-armored bodies fell to litter the hangar.

Then they were on the ramp. He saw Han punch the control and then run to the cockpit. The Jedi let go of him and followed. Only Luke remained at the ramp, and as it hissed shut, he saw the black figure at the other side of the hangar rise painfully to his feet and begin a slow shuffle towards them.

Then, the ship jolted, engines thrummed, and they were off.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! I thought I'd ask a favor from the scarce amount of people who take the time to review; your thoughts are much appreciated, and of course they give me an incentive to continue writing. Musn't discount the power of a good ego-stroke. :) Anyway, I've been trying to pin down a way to write fight scenes but both my beta and I are dissatisfied with them: he thinks they lack viscerality and don't have that edge that hooks people into wanting to know the ending, while I think they're too cerebral and read like a script. If anyone has any thoughts, I'd love to hear them!**

**Thanks again! I hope you keep reading!**


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